


How to Train Your Bilgesnipe

by TaleasOldasTimeandSpace



Series: Adventures of Darcy and Balrog [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcyland, Gen, In case you were wondering, and he can be a vindictive little beggar, balrog terrifies without even trying, balrog the bilgnesnipe, bilgesnipe shenanigans, bilgesnipes are not dogs, no matter what their papers say, thins memo hasn't reached the higher ups in shield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:12:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8848165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace/pseuds/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace
Summary: Rule one of dealing with bilgesnipes:  Bilgesnipes do not have owners, and will only do what they feel like doing when they feel like doing it.Rule two:  Don't tick them off.  Bilgesnipes hold on to things.  You wouldn't like them when they're vengeful.Unfortunately, Nick Fury doesn't know either of these rules.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one's for [Dances_With_Vulcans](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dances_With_Vulcans/pseuds/Dances_With_Vulcans) , who wanted to see Balrog take an obedience course. It...got away from me.

SHIELD lore held that you could hear Fury’s voice from anywhere in the base that day.

It wasn’t the first argument Fury and Darcy had had.  It wasn’t even the longest—they’d had one the day before that lasted exactly two hours, twelve minutes, and thirty-seven seconds.  Clint had timed it.  Rumour had it that that dispute was directly responsible for The Argument.

It was always spoken of in capital letters and hushed voices.

As far as anyone could determine—for an intelligence agency, internal scuttlebutt was notoriously unreliable—the latest Fury/Lewis confrontation was due to the fact that, after yesterday’s squabble, Darcy’s pet had trashed Fury’s office.  Papers torn and scattered, desk smashed, famously comfortable ergonomic chair dismembered and gutted.  Fury had reamed Darcy for fifteen minutes about her deplorable lack of control over her dog, and then ordered her and Balrog to take an obedience course.

No one could establish for certain whether or not Fury was being sarcastic, or if he did indeed think Balrog was a dog.  Nobody was foolhardy enough to ask.

That was how Darcy found herself in her local Petsmart one evening, Balrog at her feet, while the rest of the class—two Chihuahuas, a Great Dane, and three medium-sized dogs of indeterminate parentage—hid under the chairs of their horrified owners.  She waved, but no one would meet her eye.  Sighing, she leaned forward to scratch Balrog between the antlers.  ‘I told Fury this was a bad idea,’ she muttered.  Balrog rumbled an agreement, and the Great Dane released a surprisingly high-pitched whine.

The trainer entered the class area, smiling brightly.  ‘Hello, everybody!  My name’s Jeff, and I’ll be instructing you and your dogs on how to work together to build a foundation of manners and good behaviour that will benefit you for the rest of your lives.  So, why don’t we start by introdu—SWEET KIBBLE, WHAT IS _THAT?’_   Jeff threw himself backwards into the cabinet of class equipment, brandishing a raccoon-shaped squeaky toy in front of him, as if it would be any kind of protection should Balrog decide he looked tasty.

Darcy folded her hands and smiled serenely.  ‘He’s a purebred Yukon Elk Hound.  His name’s Balrog.’

‘You can’t possibly expect me to believe that _thing_ is a dog!’  He gestured wildly with the raccoon.

‘He’s registered, licensed, and everything.’  She crossed her arms and raised a challenging eyebrow.  ‘He’s even had his shots.’  True, those shots were a high-tech lightshow performed by Asgardian doctors that rendered him immune to diseases on both Asgard and Earth—though privately, Darcy was convinced that rabies would run screaming into the night rather than try to infect him—instead of actual shots.  Eh, same difference.  ‘You’re not going to refuse to teach us, just because you don’t happen to like my dog, are you?’ she asked sweetly.

Jeff’s eyes darted wildly around the room, as if seeking an escape route.  When he glanced at Balrog, the bilgesnipe took the opportunity to grin toothily.  Jeff made a strangled, high-pitched noise in the back of his throat.  His hands tightened spasmodically on the raccoon, making it squeak.

Darcy poked Balrog with her toe.  ‘Behave.’

Jeff closed his eyes and swallowed loudly.  ‘Okay,’ he breathed slowly.  ‘I can do this.’  He straightened up, tucking the raccoon under his arm as he moved to the middle of the room, edging as far away from Balrog as possible.

The class went well, right up until the time when Jeff was forced to call on Darcy and Balrog.  Until then, Jeff had managed to hold it together, even if his voice was regrettable wobbly.  But then Balrog slowly got to his feet, head level with Jeff’s chest, antlers threatening to take out the trainer’s eye.  He smiled deliberately, and Jeff whimpered.

Before Darcy could get Balrog to knock it off, the Great Dane decided he couldn’t take it anymore.  He yelped, throwing himself over the waist-high barricade that formed the class area and galloped down the aisles of Petsmart, knocking displays over and dragging his owner behind him.  the Chihuahuas broke in opposite directions, yapping their heads off, and one of the mutts tried to climb the shelves.

Jeff was incapable of restoring order.  Mostly because he’d fainted, still clutching the raccoon.

* * *

 

‘It wasn’t Balrog’s fault,’ Darcy insisted.

Coulson raised an eyebrow.

‘Really!  If that stupid Great Dane could have just kept it together…’

Coulson raised the other eyebrow.

‘And those Chihuahuas…’ she tried feebly.

‘Miss Lewis, what made you think enrolling your bilgesnipe in a dog obedience class was a good idea?’ he asked mildly, watching his team work to contain the situation in the Petsmart.  Most of his team, anyway.  Fitz was mainly occupied with unsuccessfully trying to drag Simmons away from Balrog, who was smugly basking in her adoration and his trepidation.

‘Would you believe me if I said Fury told me to?’  It _was_ the truth, after all.  That had to count for something, right?

Coulson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  ‘Unfortunately, I can.  I don’t think this is quite what he had in mind, though.’

‘Well, what do you suggest?’ she asked, spreading her hands.  ‘It’s not like I got a whole lotta options.’

He grinned slowly.  Darcy, who regularly faced down aliens, dark elves, superheroes, SHIELD, and Science!-crazed astrophysicists without breaking a sweat, experienced a twinge of unease.  ‘That’s not entirely true.’

* * *

 

As Darcy and Balrog entered the large training room, the heads of every single agent and dog swiveled to face them.  It was like being in an oddly dog-themed horror movie.  Squaring her shoulders, she grinned and toss the room a salute. ‘Hey.  How’s it going?’

Silence.  Not even a single ear twitched.

‘Awesome,’ she said, making finger guns.  Then she wondered if it was entirely wise to make gun-like gestures at a roomful of SHIELD agents.  Fortunately, no one seemed inclined to respond with an actual gun.  She counted that a win.

‘Darcy?’

She turned at the familiar voice.  ‘Clint?  What are you doing here?’

He held up a leash.  ‘We’re just taking a refresher course.  Right, boy?’  The other end of the leash was attached to Lucky, who was too busy saying hello to Balrog to pay any attention to his master.

Then again, Darcy was pretty sure Lucky only paid attention to his master when there was something in it for him.  Like pizza.

‘What are you and Durin’s Bane doing here?’ he asked, nodding at Balrog.  The bilgesnipe inclined his head regally before returning his attention to Lucky.

Darcy grimace.  ‘Punishment.  Balrog sort of…wrecked…Admiral Eyepatch’s office.’

Clint frowned.  ‘Really?  How did I miss that?’

‘Beats me.  Maybe you were off somewhere jabbing pointy sticks in people?’

‘Of all the times to be saving the world.  That must have been epic.’

‘You have no idea.  Balrog ate his fern.’

Clint put a hand to his chest, gasping theatrically.  ‘Balrog ate Triffid?  I’m surprised Fury didn’t just have the pair of you shot.’  Triffid the fern was the pride and joy of Fury’s office, even more so than the fabulous ergonomic chair.  It was whispered that he fed it the blood of SHIELD agents who failed their field exam.

She lifted a shoulder.  ‘It’s just as well he didn’t.  The bullets would probably just bounce of Balrog and do even more damage.’

‘That’s something we should test.’  There was a slightly manic glint in his eye.  ‘For Science!’

She narrowed her eyes.  ‘If you start taking potshots at my bilgesnipe, I will tase you, hand your miserable carcass over to Natasha, and tell her she can feed whatever’s left to Balrog when she’s done.’

He swallowed noisily and took a large step away from both of them.  ‘Fair enough.’

She nodded in satisfaction.  ‘Groovy.  Now—’

The double doors of the training room slammed open with a bang, and every agent in the room—including Clint, Darcy noted with interest—snapped to attention with a near-audible crack.

‘Class starts now,’ the newcomer, a tall brunette woman, boomed as she stalked to the middle of the room, a large, off-leash dog that looked more than half wolf at her heels.  ‘Anyone not in the room when I arrive is not in the course.  That will hold true for every class.’  She stopped in the exact centre of the room and turned to face the line of ridged SHIELD agents.  Darcy felt incredibly floppy, but decided any attempt to straighten up would just draw unwanted attention.  Besides, she was fairly certain the instructor already knew she was there.  The instructor assumed a parade rest stance while she surveyed the assembled agents and their dogs.  Hers sat beside her, alert but apparently relaxed, though Darcy could see one of his ears cocked towards Balrog.

‘I am Agent Baskerville,’ the woman said, making eye contact with each agent.  Darcy blinked, but no one else even twitched.  ‘This is my partner, Diefenbaker.  We will be teaching you and your partners how to work as a unit both in and out of the field.  This is _not_ the puppy training class from your local Petsmart.  You and your partner will be working hard, navigating obstacle courses, learning how to attack and defend, and how to identify and track a variety of threats, from bombs to aliens.

‘Now I’m only going to say this once,’ she continued, voice darkening.  ‘Anyone who even _thinks_ about making a Sherlock Holmes joke in my presence automatically flunks the course, and may only retake it at my discretion.  Barton!’ she snapped, making Clint stiffen until Darcy thought he was going to topple backwards.  ‘Would you care to enlighten the class about what that’s like?’

‘It’s not fun, ma’am,’ he replied, staring at the far wall.

‘And how many times have you repeated the course?’  She took a few long strides until she was standing directly in front of Clint.  Darcy noted with interest that she was a couple of inches taller than him, and tucked it away in the back of her mind for future teasing.

Clint didn’t take his eyes off the wall.  ‘This is my fifth, ma’am.’

Baskerville leaned closer, eyeing him narrowly.  ‘Do you think you can manage to go a month without making references to gigantic hounds?’

A bead of sweat rolled down his hairline, but otherwise he didn’t react.  ‘We can only hope, ma’am.’

She snorted and returned to Diefenbaker, who hadn’t moved during the exchange.  ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t hold my breath.’  She clapped her hands loudly, making several of the dogs yip.  ‘Ten laps around the perimeter.  Now!’

The agents and their dogs instantly—if somewhat haphazardly—broke for the edge of the room.  Darcy glanced at Balrog, who raised a brow ridge.  She shrugged.  He flicked an ear, and they fell in behind Clint and Lucky.

Darcy wasn’t in Captain America shape by any means, but she wasn’t in terrible shape, either.  In fact, Steve made a decent running partner, when he could restrain himself from lapping her fifty times in every mile.  It didn’t stop him from moving in exaggerated slow motion until she was ready to headslap him, though.  So rather than try to outrun the crowd of agents and dogs, she and Balrog settled into a comfortable pace that would allow them to last all ten laps.  After all, Baskerville hadn’t said that they had to do it in a set time.

They had quickly fallen to the back of the herd, but by the sixth lap, several of the leaders were flagging while Darcy and Balrog were still trotting along steadily behind Clint and Lucky.  Balrog yawned widely, as if he was ready to fall asleep from boredom at any moment.  Rolling her eyes, Darcy tweaked his antler and jumped over an agent who was sprawled against the wall, sweat-drenched and wheezing.  Balrog didn’t bother to jump, just walked across the agent’s chest, earning a pained groan. 

All the dogs not on a leash were playing or napping in the middle of the room.  All except Diefenbaker, who hadn’t moved from Baskerville’s side as she watched the agents run in circles.  She hadn’t visibly reacted to Balrog, though he wasn’t exactly easy to overlook.  But Darcy could see her observing the bilgesnipe from the corner of her eye as they made circuits around the room.  On their last lap, Darcy intercepted her gaze and quirked an eyebrow. Baskerville nodded briefly, then turned her attention to the agents who were collapsing in an exhausted piled as soon as they finished their run.

She shook her head.  ‘Pathetic.  Completely abysmal.  It’s all well and good to know some fancy moves or how to shoot things—’ she aimed a pointed glance at Clint, who wasn’t even breathing hard ‘—but that won’t do anyone any good if you pass out halfway through a mission because you get a bit winded.’  A dog like a small bear trotted up to her and flopped at her feet, staring at her.  ‘Nor can you be effective operatives if you can’t even manage to keep track of your partner.  Agent Teller!  Remove your Caucasian Shepherd before he soaks through my boot, if you please.’

‘Yes, ma’am!’  Darcy watched as a tiny agent scurried up to the bear and clipped a leash to his collar.  ‘Illya!  Come!’ she hissed, tugging on the leash.  The dog trotted obediently after her, wagging his tail.  Darcy shook her head.  And people thought she and Balrog had a weird dynamic.

Baskerville shook her head.  ‘I’d hope to see improvement from you over the duration of this course, but I’m not given to flights of fancy.  I expect you in this room at 0700 tomorrow.  Class dismissed.’

Darcy leaned against Clint and flapped her damp shirt.  ‘This’ll be fun.’

He laughed.  ‘You have no idea.’

* * *

 

The course continued in roughly the same vein.  Clint and Lucky breezed through all of the exercises without breaking a sweat—oddly, so did Agent Teller and Illya, as long as she kept him on a leash—while Darcy managed to slog through without embarrassing herself.

She grudgingly admitted that she’d need to bake cookies as a thank-you to all of the Avengers who insisted on training her to defend herself.  They and Balrog were the only reason she wasn’t a smear on the floor.  Balrog could have aced the course without even trying, but he hung back to keep pace with Darcy—something that didn’t escape Baskerville’s notice.  Nor did the fact that the agents assigned to ‘attack’ the class members refused to have anything to do with Balrog after he danced past all of their strikes to clamp his jaws around the agent’s leg, just tight enough to show that he could easily snap the limb if he wanted to.  And the way he casually destroyed obstacles with a swipe of a claw or tail actually made her raise her eyebrows fractionally.

By the end of the course, nearly half of the agents dropped out.  Or been kicked out, unceremoniously, by Baskerville.  On the last day, she stood in the centre of room, eyeing the row of remaining agents.  Darcy managed to stand as straight as the rest of them this time around.

‘Those of you still here pass,’ Baskerville said.  ‘Congratulations.  Dismissed.’  As the agents scattered, she called, ‘Lewis!  A moment.’

Darcy turned back and raised an eyebrow.  ‘Agent Baskerville?’

Baskerville nodded at Balrog.  ‘You and that bilgesnipe of yours make an excellent team.’

Darcy blinked.

‘There’s an opening for you at SHIELD, should you ever decide to switch careers.’

Darcy blinked again.  ‘Uh, thanks?’

Baskerville inclined her head and turned for the door.

‘Wait, so you knew what Balrog was this whole time?’

Baskerville paused.  ‘Of course I did,’ she said.  ‘Coulson informed me when he enrolled you in the class.  Besides,’ she added, glancing over her shoulder with the barest hint of a smirk, ‘no dog on earth would have scales and antlers.  And Yukon Elk Hounds don’t exist, no matter what his papers say.  Good day Lewis.  Balrog.’

* * *

 

Darcy insisted Fury attend the Hallelujah, We Survived Baskerville’s Death Camp party (she’d made and distributed t-shirts), since it was his fault she took the course in the first place.  She was as shocked as anyone when he actually showed.  He was muttering under his breath about PR reps who abused their powers and let their rabid mutts wreak havoc unsupervised, but he showed.

Even Clint was there.  Darcy managed to keep him from getting himself kicked out by stomping hard on his foot anytime he glanced at Baskerville with unholy glee in his face.

‘I heard Baskerville gave you a job offer, Lewis.  You should be flattered—she never does that.  I for one would appreciate it if you didn’t take her up on it, though.  The last thing I need is for you and that menace of yours hanging around my base even more.’

Darcy sniffed.  ‘Keep your voice down, pirate.  You’ll hurt his feelings.’

Fury froze in the act of reaching for a drink.  ‘You mean he’s here?’

‘Of course he is!  This is his party too, you know.  Balrog, say hi to the grumpy man in the eyepatch.’

Balrog pulled himself out from under the table and glanced at Fury.  He yawned, displaying all his teeth.

Fury actually paled.  His jaw dropped, and he lifted his eyepatch, as if that would somehow help him see better.  ‘ _What_ is _that?_ ’ he demanded.

Darcy furrowed her brow.  ‘Balrog?  My bilgesnipe?  The one you ordered me to take to obedience training?’

‘You mean he’s not a dog?’

Darcy and Balrog looked at each other.  ‘Not last I checked, no.’

‘How did you manage to get him on the planet?’

She shrugged.  ‘Permission from Odin and Coulson and help from Thor.  Are you saying you didn’t know?’

Fury scrubbed a hand over his face.  ‘I do _not_ get paid enough for this,’ he growled, taking a long swig of his drink.

‘Does that mean the job offer is withdrawn?  Baskerville mentioned something about working directly under you and Hill.’

Baskerville had said no such thing, but it was worth it to see Fury spew beer all over the table.

**Author's Note:**

> Fury brought Triffid back with judicious watering and fertilizer. And possibly a human sacrifice. No one knows for sure whether it’s an actual fern or something Thor gave him as a token of intergalactic goodwill. Darcy asked once, but Fury just glared and clutched Triffid’s pot protectively to his chest.
> 
> Darcy and Balrog drop by Baskerville's class occasionally for old times' sake. And also to terrorize the new recruits. Diefenbaker remains unimpressed, though he does appreciate Darcy's specially-made dog treats.
> 
> Bet you never thought you see another one of these, eh? I really am working through my prompt, I promise. As always, you can leave prompts in the comments below or [shoot the breeze](https://taleasoldastime-andspace.tumblr.com/ask) on my tumblr. No smut, slash, or polyships, please and thank you.
> 
> Until next time, my little bilgesnipes,  
> Namarie!


End file.
